


Beyond

by edka88



Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 14:30:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2154066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edka88/pseuds/edka88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been years since such a heavy snowfall was bestowed upon the city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond

"Christine, dear, you really should have changed by now."

Turning back to the window Christine let Madame Giry's words fade, not bothering to even think about answering them.

Days had passed since the fire in the opera house but she wasn't sure how many; occasionally Madame came in to her room, reminding her to change and who knows how many other things. It didn't matter. Eventually she'd get tired of talking in vain – or not. It didn't matter, either.

Outside, beyond the window it was snowing again and huge, lazy flakes swirled with the wind, then settled on a pile that most probably was a small bush in the garden. It had started snowing on the night they had come here; at first it was impossible to tell they were snowflakes and not just frost from a nearby tree – and barely stopped snowing since then. By the time morning came the whiteness covered the numerous footprints they made at arriving and covered the cobblestones of the driveway as well, leaving a smooth, white blanket on their place.

It had been years since such a heavy snowfall was bestowed upon the city.

Then there was the cold. Thoughtless, numbing cold.

Raoul had brought her in his mansion after the fire along with another few members of the cast who had nowhere to stay, but many of them had already left to friends and relatives. Meg and Madame Giry had stayed, of course, and vaguely Christine was aware that she should be grateful for their compassion – but she felt no such thing. She felt _nothing_ , in fact. Not even when Raoul tried to speak with her, when he tried to coax her to eat, to sleep… Never. And when he shortly mentioned that their wedding could be delayed until she recovered from the shock and felt ready for it, well, she couldn't remember what she answered to that. Or if she had answered at all.

He never brought it up again.

On the other side of the window flakes were whirling in low circles; they then landed on top of a statue that was now so thickly covered in white that it was impossible to tell what it portrayed. She knew it perfectly well, though, she had been staring at it since she was brought here, however long time ago it had been.

It was an angel.

Briefly she closed her eyes, drew in a slow breath, then opened them again, her thumb sweeping an uncertain caress across her forth finger. Empty.

She longed to cry at least, if nothing else, to mourn the loss – but it was hard to think about it as loss when all it would take her was one word, and all would be different. _This_ couldn't be the end of it.

She heard the rustle of clothes behind her, indicating that Madame was coming closer. "You haven't eaten your dinner, my dear," she told her.

"I'm not hungry."

Madame let out a deep sigh. "You cannot continue like this. You have to take care of yourself." There was some strange, begging undertone to Madame's words and Christine hated to hear it. It was a constant reminder of how unthinkable it was what she craved for so desperately.

"I'm fine," Christine told her simply.

Madame's voice came closer still until she stopped right beside her. "Christine, it's over. You did the right thing when you left."

"Yes," she agreed with a tired sigh.

Everybody said that. Everybody thought it was for the better that things were as they were now, but she… she didn't.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She was here and he stayed there – and she would never see him again.

A murderer. For years she had been pursued by a murderer.

_Christine, I love you._

Outside vast flakes continued to swirl with the increasing wind.

"It's been four days," spoke Madame again, and Christine's eyes slowly returned to the crinkled, disheveled hem of her skirt while her fingers instinctively traced the outline of the intricate pattern of the embroidery on the material. It could have been so beautiful. "You haven't moved from this place for four days." The concerned voice of Madame Giry pulled Christine back to the present. "You haven't eaten for four days. Nor slept."

"I'm fine," she repeated calmly.

But she was anything but fine. There were people all around her, anxious and caring about her well-being but she had never felt more alone among them. And knowing that they did according to their best intentions only made her hate herself even more.

On one evening, before leaving her for the night, Raoul had attempted to kiss her on the lips but she turned away so that his kiss reached her cheek instead. Somewhere it hurt to know that in an overheard conversation he attributed it as a result of shock and abuse that she had to endure 'from that madman' yet she left Raoul in this belief. In fact, the reason of her rejection was that she didn't want the feel of anyone else's kiss after she'd known _his_.

And he was a murderer.

For days, she couldn't think about anything else. She yearned to be with him – but he was a murderer.

It should be easy: knowing he had killed and more than just once should have already decided the matter for her. As if all the other crimes wouldn't have been enough on their own…

_Christine, I love you._

That shouldn't matter, either.

Madame laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, pulling her out of her reverie. "Don't blame yourself, my dear. I told him from the very beginning not to take this too far, just as I made sure he was perfectly aware of all the consequences of it. It was his decision and you don't owe him anything."

"Why do you think he should have never tried to court me?" Christine asked, her eyes riveted on her dress.

"He's not like us," started Madame Giry reluctantly. "His morals… He cannot be trusted."

The rapidly swelling indignation was quickly smothered by her growing sorrow on Madame's remark. Even she thought so… "You'd known him for so long and you still think of him like that?"

Madame swallowed, then looked down on her clasped fingers. "I don't know him. He had never allowed me to get to know him."

"But _I_ know him," she insisted.

"No, dear." When she looked up, it seemed to Christine that Madame Giry's eyes were brighter than usual. "I doubt he has ever let anyone that close to him, in fact."

"Except me."

The words echoed for several long minutes around them in the silent room.

It was Madame who spoke first, then. "Piangi is dead, Christine. Joseph Buquet is dead. Erik killed both of them."

"But he let me go," she whispered. "He wanted me to marry him all along – but he let me go."

"To do the right thing, just for once!"

Outside of the window the pale sun had already set, leaving the garden in a quickly thickening gray shadow while snow continued to fall. Sometime during their conversation the statue had transferred into a completely unrecognizable pile of whiteness. The angel was gone and Christine let out a shaky sigh.

Madame took the trail with the food that had now gone cold. "My dear, you really should go to bed and sleep already. You're exhausted."

A respectable young girl should have obeyed such a wish. Especially so that it was not the first time that that specific request was uttered by her guardian. A respectable young girl did decent things, and certainly did not fall in love with a faceless voice. Was smarter than to wish a ghost to be real. More practical than to base her future on her feelings.

And never, ever forgave a criminal just because she was sure about knowing his real character.

It seemed she wasn't respectable, after all.

"I want to speak with Raoul," she told the exiting Madame Giry.

\- o -

_I'm here._

The heart that Christine thought unmoving only an hour ago was now hammering in her chest, and it was impossible to hear any sound beyond the frantic pounding in her ears.

The door in front of her was just as intact as the last time she saw it.

_Four days._

No one heard of him since she left. Her heart jumped to her throat, barely allowing her to breathe through it.

_Four days._

_Alone._

_More than enough to…_

An uneven sigh rushed past the lump in her throat and she reached out to the stone of the wall beside her. A moment later she swallowed, trying to get rid of all the horrific images that might have greeted her upon entering.

_No. He couldn't have…_

Coming here all alone was such a foolish idea all of a sudden.

With a determined push on the door she entered the house, almost afraid to look around at all at first. She shouldn't have bothered, though – only darkness greeted her.

Staggering back she leaned to the door, breathing rapidly as the torch cast an orange shadow at everything that came to view in front of her. The intricate pattern of the carpet seemed to come to life in the ever-changing firelight but other than that – nothing. All the furniture was as she remembered them, every little trinket on their rightful place but he… he was gone.

A clock was ticking somewhere in the house, the sound coming from within the darkness.

It was too tidy. Too… unchanged.

The room turned around her head in the sickening silence.

_But he didn't. He didn't. He didn't._

Closing her eyes briefly she pushed away from the door to start towards the adjoining room, her steps audible even on the thick carpet.

Step after step… Shadows danced around her as she held onto the torch with trembling fingers, and the ticking slowly tapered off behind her back as she left the parlor farther beyond her.

Blood pounded in her ears when she stepped to the partly open door, then with a sigh, she took another step forward – and then she saw him.

Huddled in a corner, crouched on his knees, and his face hidden in some white material.

The veil.

_My veil._

Air disappeared from her lungs at the sight and her voice failed her when she tried to call out for him.

She found him.

Her heart gave a strangely forceful thump as if, indeed, it only started to beat again at the nearness of him – and finally, he looked up from the fabric.

_A ghost._

At first she wasn't even sure he was seeing her. His eyes lingered on her face, unmoving, and it seemed he wasn't breathing, either.

A slow blink.

Then a sharp, uneven intake of breath.

A wince ghosted over his distorted features and his red-framed eyes stood out brightly from his pale countenance – he truly made an unearthly appearance. There was no mask and his hair was in absolute disarray.

Her throat clenched.

He was wearing the same shirt that he did four days ago.

A heartbeat of a time passed.

Another.

"Christine…" His voice was barely more than a ragged whisper.

The wavering torch in her hand threw an uncertain shadow around them and she felt her head move in agreement.

He made to rise and the veil fell to the floor as he stood; his knees buckled under his weight with the first step and he reached out to brace himself on the nearest wall, never taking his eyes off of her.

"Christine."

He took a wobbly step towards her. Then another.

"Christine."

Somehow she got rid of the torch though she couldn't really recall how before she started towards him; his disheveled figure quickly becoming blurred before her eyes as the first burning drop rolled down on her cheek. Slowly, as if walking in water, he came closer and she stepped towards him, too; then the room swayed before her eyes momentarily as her knees gave away from under her with the next step. She didn't fell, though: two arms caught her just long enough for her to not hit herself, then together the two of them sunk to the floor.

Gasping for air she clasped her arms around him, his struggling attempts at drawing in a full breath jostling her every single time.

Waves of air were sweeping across her nape and a long tremble rolled down on her back – it was immediately followed by a rush of forceful shudders as her hands clawed at the back of his shirt, pulling him closer even as she was now folded around his shaking frame. Fighting for air she pressed her face against his neck, feeling every quiver that run through his throat while his fingers curled into the back of her coat.

Words… fragments of incomprehensible words reached her ears but she couldn't find meaning in them.

His stubbled chin scraped at her neck with his every movement as he continued to tremble against her, his chest moving against hers; occasionally she felt something creeping beneath her clothes and trickling down on her back but soon it was impossible to discern the drops that followed each other. His hands slid down to her waist, smoothing the ruffled material beneath his palms, and he slid closer, too, his knees softly coming against her own on the floor.

She uncurled one of her hands from his shirt, reaching up for his hair, and an uneven wave of air passed over her skin.

"I love you," he wheezed, his lips brushing against her shoulder with the words.

She nodded wordlessly until she found her voice to speak. "I love you, too," she whispered, then clutched at him when a long shiver shook his frame.

"Christine…" He began but then his voice broke… He was weeping and clinging to her and trying to speak without succeeding, then he gave up completely and settled for holding onto her, his face hidden in her hair.

His back was heaving beneath her palm, his struggling gasps for air mingling with her own wheezing.

They echoed around them for several moments in the room.

"Are you all right?" She asked him at last.

He didn't answer immediately but after a few moments he nodded. "You?" He asked against her hair.

"Yes," she sniffled. His hold tightened on her briefly as a muffled whimper left his lips.

Minutes passed again without any spoken word.

"You're wearing the same clothes," he remarked softly, pulling away slowly from her.

"So do you," she whispered back, catching his hand in hers. "Have you slept at all?"

He shook his head. "You haven't, either. I can tell."

"Of course you can tell," she smiled at him, sniffling gracelessly as she rested her palm against his face.

He sobbed into her hand. "You shouldn't have come back," he muttered.

"You're not the first to tell me so," she answered, withdrawing her hand from his face but holding onto his hand with the other.

"I let you go so you can have what you want," he continued, his eyes on their joined hands.

"That's why I came back," she replied softly.

His eyes lifted from the carpet at that but his sight never settled on her eyes for more than a moment; it was constantly flitting around her face but never really looking at her.

"I didn't mean to take it as far as I did in the end," he told her at last. "I should have never… Christine, I…"

He couldn't finish it. He doubled over, voiceless, breathless sobs shaking his whole frame; then slowly he let her hand slip from his grasp, too, his fingers curling into the carpet.

She was barely able to make out his blubbering words. "You cannot stay here," he wept.

It took her voice two failed attempts until she could speak again. "But you want me to."

"Yes," he gasped.

"I want to stay, too," she pressed.

He shook his head, still avoiding looking at her. "I will not pursue you," he told her. "You can live your life without having to think of me again."

Her heart contorted painfully when the meaning of his words sunk in. "I'm not here because I'm afraid of you."

"Then why?" He breathed after a moment.

"Because I love you. You already knew that only five minutes ago."

"Because I saw what I wanted to see."

"You didn't when you let me go," she offered and finally he looked up at her.

He was staring at her for long moments without a word, then his eyes lowered to glance at her empty left hand. He said nothing but after several heartbeats of time his sight lifted to her face, lingering on her lips until it finally reached her eyes. He drew in a shaky breath and his lips quivered with it, then his arm lifted and fell back to his side.

"I'm no better than the men I detested in my whole life. That's why you had to leave in the first place."

"You came to me when it got you nothing and then let me go when it cost you everything. I think you're not like them."

He reached out his hand at that, then almost pulled it back when she took it. "You really want to stay?" He queried, his eyes intent on their clasped hands.

"Yes," she smiled, wiping at her face clumsily.

"With me?"

"Yes," she repeated and his thumb swept a hesitant caress across her empty fourth finger, but he said nothing. "I've broken up our engagement," she explained, and his fingers closed around hers with a little flutter.

For long moments, he was drawing slow circles on the back of her hand with his thumb, his eyes riveted on the small movement. Then the movement stopped and she waited.

His eyes slowly lifted to look at her. "Would you stay as my wife?" His voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Yes," she smiled. "Yes, of course," she repeated with a little waver in her voice as he retrieved the ring from his pocket. He pulled it on her finger with an uncertain movement, holding onto her hand with both of his afterwards.

"I love you so much," he breathed.

"I love you, too," she echoed.

For one fracture of a moment his eyes strayed to her lips but he quickly averted them, his sight settling on her hand instead. With her free hand, she reached out to his face but then it was him who leaned closer to her, his eyes fluttering closed at the first touch of her lips on his.

It was breathtaking – and quite ticklish. His stubble scraped at her skin lightly with every move he made; the small, trembling brushes of his lips accompanied by the scratches of the whiskers on her face.

His hands groped at her waist as if he expected them to be pushed away any moment so she slid closer to him, burying her fingers in his hair, and finally his arms settled around her. He went no further, though, instead he lifted one arm; his hand hovered beside her face before he let it sweep across her hair lightly. All his movements stilled, though, when she deepened the kiss – but a moment later he returned it.

To think she would be missing _this_ …

They pulled apart a long while later, both of them breathing heavily.

All at once his color seemed to heighten and one of his hands reached out to her face.

"I…" His fingers brushed a hesitant caress around her lips where his stubble scraped at her skin a little. She didn't even notice that it would be shown until now. "I'm sorry for that," he told her, his thumb sweeping over the same place again. "It never occurred to me."

"It's nothing." She turned a little to press a kiss to his wrist. "And it was well worth it."

At her words the corners of his lips twitched. "Christine, I'm…" His voice broke and he wanted to pull his hand back; she captured it to hold it between the two of them. His extended arm wavered in the air with a long shiver. "I wish you could forgive me what I've done. Someday."

The words could barely pass through the lump in her throat. "You're already forgiven." She wanted to continue but the words were caught in her throat. She tried again. "I'm sorry, too. For agreeing to Raoul's plan. Anything could have happened to you."

His eyes were filled with sadness as he drew an uncertain caress down on her cheek. "You don't need to ask for my forgiveness."

Though already sure about the answer, she had to ask it anyway, "But do you give it?"

"Of course," he whispered.

His lips were only inches from hers; she leant forward to close the small distance between them that he dared not to.

After they pulled apart, his thumb swept across her lips, now pulled into a small smile. "My precious bride. You are so beautiful."

Lifting one of her arms she covered his hand on her face, a short laugh escaping from her throat. "I'm filthy and untidy. I haven't had a bath in days."

He shook his head. "I only see you."

Suddenly it was very difficult to take a proper breath and her arms seemed to move on their own as they wound around his neck. He returned her hold in the same moment. "I missed you so," she told to his shoulder.

"I missed you, too," he echoed, stroking his fingers down the length of her hair.

\- o -

Fire was cracking merrily in the hearth and the dancing flames cast various shadows on her pale face.

She came back.

Had it not been for her frozen toes pressed against his calf he still wouldn't believe it. He wanted to warm them for her – but she fell asleep before he found the nerves to ask her.

Three hours ago he thought he would never see her again; even her scent on the crumpled veil was already fading. Now she was sleeping in his bed. With him lying beside her. Her hand holding his even in her sleep. His ring upon her finger.

She almost fell asleep on his lap earlier, then it was him who suggested her to go to bed. He didn't mean it with him but when she sat down on the bed, immediately she moved a little to the side… He was still debating with himself whether she left that place for him or not when she told him with a blush that she thought he was to stay there, too. It would have been awkward… but after he had helped her out of her dress the term wasn't fitting enough anymore.

And so now the two of them were sharing the same bed.

She slipped into her dreams beside him and her trust had woken his regrets again – if they ever stilled at all – but she seemed so content that his doubts eventually faded for the night.

He brushed a caress down on her cheek, still amazed how her skin was just as soft beneath his fingers as he always imagined it.

He knew this wasn't meant to be. Especially not after what he had done to her. She said she had already forgiven him for those – but he had not. In fact, he doubted that he ever could. He didn't want any of the things to happen that happened in the end but that was hardly any excuse now. It was because of his ghastly actions that their future was a jumble of unresolved problems and the weight of it was almost too much to bear.

He let out a deep sigh, watching how their linked hands that rested on her stomach rose and fell with her smooth breathing.

She loved him, though. Maybe that shouldn't have consoled him that much – but it did.

Slowly, so as not to jostle her in her sleep he sunk down on the bed. His shoulder started throbbing immediately as blood returned to it.

_Tomorrow._

Tomorrow he would deal with the most pressing issues.

But for now, he would just sleep beside his bride.


End file.
